Methods to our Madness
by immer wenn es dunkel wird
Summary: But if we go, we go together. Our hands are tied here if we stay. -25 miscellaneous birdflash!drabbles for the bingofest-


_Methods To Our Madness_

|written exclusively for the bingofest tumblr|

Note(s): 25 unrelated drabbles, prompted by the 5x5 grid of the birdflash!bingo. _Free for all_. Most titles are either (altered) song lyrics or sentences heavily inspired by any book I've gotten my hands on in the last few weeks. /premature disclaimer right **here**/ -Mostly season _one _or between seasons, but might have some season _two _as well. Oh and writing style varies.-

Warning(s): This contains a multitude of genres ranging from humor to borderline angst, _homosexuality_ and _heterosexuality, _polyamory, general bouts of family-moments and bromance between multiple characters of the team... This is pretty _tame _by my standards.

Pairing(s): Birdflash (platonic & romantic); Nightflash, SuperMartian, Chalant, Spitfire, SeaArrow, FlashSpell & BatCat

Summary: But if we go, we go _together_. Our hands are tied here if we stay. -25 miscellaneous birdflash!drabbles for the bingofest-

_I hereby disclaim any and all rights_

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{1. Post-Artemis}

_I am the king of the blues, _

_I scrape the clay off my shoes_

_And wade down the gutter and the moon_

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Outside, about five floors below his living room's window, the main mania of rush hour depletes from a restless rush of cabs and cars into a relatively empty street with a lonesome solitary taxi driver scoring for a passenger. Dick, approximately an hour home after a hectic patrol in the more dangerous districts of Blüdhaven, busies himself by meticulously brushing and flossing his teeth. It's the fifth of November, and aside from opting to give V for Vendetta on Netflix another go, he seriously contemplates to crawl under the sheets and call it a night.

What he certainly didn't expect was a sporadic visitor, so when the tell-tale buzz of his front door rang mercilessly within the confines of his moderately Spartan residence, his thoughts scatter, flitting from face to face and trying to come up with an appointment he might've missed. Dick even forgets about the blue toothbrush in the loose hold of his hand.

In the abandoned hallway stands his best friend, with nothing but a thread-worn duffle bag at his All Stars and two hands listlessly shoved down his pockets. Wally smiles sheepishly, blush on the bulb of his cheeks and eyelids lightly swollen from, what Dick deduces must be, sorrow unshed.

"I was expecting a Fawkes mask, to be honest."

His remark is met by a horrible attempt at a laugh, yet the strangled sound falls flat between them. Dick quickly ushers him inside, waving the toothbrush at the couch located far away in the corner. Wally bends over to retrieve his luggage, but his friend rolls his eyes irritably and swiftly picks up the bag himself.

On the sofa, accompanied by the lively city sounds outside and the low rustle of 'The Office' re-runs on mute, they fall into the much-needed conversation. Their kneecaps touch on multiple occasions as they sit on their shins under a fleece blanket. His trained eyes notice how tense Wally is; reads the hidden signals of how gravely the fall-out between him and Artemis affected him in the stiffness of his posture, in how he reaches out to pinch the bridge of his nose and in how he often actually pauses mid-sentence to debate on how to continue.

It's so terribly easy to reach out and touch the speedster's elbow, Dick doesn't even think about it, and leans in a tad closer- as if they were suddenly, magically thirteen and fifteen again.

"Wanna order a pepperoni pizza and have a sleepover?"

Wally slings an arm around the acrobat's neck and hauls him into a one-armed embrace. Whispers hoarsely, "You're the best, dude."

After two months of intense gaming bouts, kitchen fiasco's and jamming sessions to sixties' records Wally stole from his uncle /Nu-uh, I _borrowed _them, bro. _borr~owed_./, Dick suspects his friend might finally be getting over Artemis.

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{2. CDfJ}

_And we've got our hot-pants on and up  
And yes of course we does, we running this town just like a club  
And no, you don't wanna mess with us._

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First thing Robin thinks to himself is: _things shouldn't deteriorate __**this **__quickly. _ As his gaze sweeps over the bulky silhouette in the especially dangerous-dark alleyway, he balls his hands into fists. It's one thing to balance on a pair of faux-leather secondhand Steve Maddens with one shoe missing half of its spiked heel, and it's another thing entirely to do the formerly mentioned while being stared down by an adversary pumped up with steroids and testosterone enhancers. He can actually smell the killer-intent in the polluted air.

Kid Flash is somewhere behind the enemy half-hidden in scarce shadows, donning ginger extensions and scarlet booty shorts. They nod at each other briefly to ready themselves for a combined assault. Wally crouches into a more appropriate fighting stance, accidentally giving Robin a more exhaustive view of the lace from the A-cup bralette he's wearing underneath the remotely low-cut top.

And to consider how promising this evening seemed to become.. Strutting in the club, like _whadd'up? I got a big… _Black wig on his head, Katy Perry fake-eyelashes and concealer on his chin. Batman had been crystal-clear on their assignment: they had to locate the supplier of a large drug-circuit who allegedly had a stronghold around this part of town and gain more intel on the whereabouts and chemicals used in the special brand amphetamines. Of course the mystery supplier had to have _henchmen_. Of course one of them had to **try **and cop a feel with Miss M. With the most drastic consequence that the guy was telepathically smashed into the bar, and that was before Superboy felt the need to show off some brawn.

Now Robin wasn't all that savvy on nightclub activities, but he was 99.99% sure that was not an accurate way to get down on Major Lazer.

Before he can blink, Kid Flash dashes forwards in a mad sprint, unaccustomed to the wedges adorning his feet, and almost falling face-down on the cobblestones. He aims for the tug's gut with his left leg, but falters upon collision. He gets gripped by the wrists and thrown backwards, landing somewhere behind the Boy Wonder.

"Hey, Rob…" This was hardly suitable time for small-talk.

Not taking his eyes off the baddie, he counters with a slightly irritated '_what?'_

"Nice panties." There's a smirk somewhere in those syllables.

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{3. Injured}

_When I lay it down, facing you._

_I can feel my eyelids close, -I never sleep with my back to you-_

Guess that's a nine on the horizontal then.

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He vaguely remembers his English teacher lecturing them about an author whose name Wally forgot the instant June reached its peak, who claims that a man only knows himself after acknowledging severe physical pain. Promptly the ginger wonders how well-educated he should be about his own limitations then, and how knowledgeable Robin surely should be after all the incidents, all the bruises and the colorless cicatrices. His mind wanders as he regards the memorable scene in the confines of the medical bay: Miss M spreads her verdant fingertips over the petals of the glossy gladiolus in the vase next to the hospital bed, throwing a few worried wayward glances to the boy under the covers

Kid Flash lifts the elastic straps of his goggles from behind his ears and drops the glasses upon his collarbone. M'gann looks up from her spot, hand frozen mid-air, and offers a tentative tilt of the lips. Robin too lifts his gaze, as he's seated cross-legged with a Sudoku booklet in his lap, the apex of his tongue probes the inside of his cheek in concentration and thus creates a peculiar bulge.

"Hey." His voice is abnormally soft and he briefly imagines it must be as soft as the charred skin of Rob's left leg, hidden underneath the lathered silvadene and bandages.

Echoing the initial greeting, the Martian girl arranges the long stems of the flowers and utters a relieved sigh. Robin proffers her a compliment, "They're beautiful, Miss M."

Wally rubs his elbow nervously, eying the two of them before asking, "Yeah.. What's up with the flowers, babe?"

She giggles in an automatic reflex, the hollow sound escapes her before she fully realizes the mere action and responds, "Well.. I, uh, I saw it in episode five of.. Oh, never mind that, Wally." Her eyes are large and a brimming brown, "It's an earth custom, right?"

He dumbly nods before fixating his gaze back onto the Boy Wonder. She takes the hint surprisingly easy, floating over to Robin and offering him an awkward embrace; team dynamics are still a tad shaky and unfamiliar to them, before taking her leave. Her cape flutters behind her like a blanket played by the wind.

"So, uhm, how's the leg, lovebird?" Wally asks, traversing the room in unusually even strides. "Aqualad is beating himself up over the blast and stuff. Like he could've done somethin'.."

He laughs dryly, tiredly, the pencil in his grasp nearly slipping due to a fatigue belonging to a mission gone wrong. "Not his fault.. Not yours either. Should'a been more careful.." Robin drops against the cushions.

Wally takes his available hand, rubs the dips between the knuckles with the plush of his thumb and encourages him to take a well-deserved rest. Yet the boy is resilient and insists on adding one more digit to complete his puzzle; just one more nine on the horizontal, _Walls_.

However, the drum of the machines around them lull the boy into slumber and Kid Flash takes it upon himself to scribble the number down with a scratchy swirl in the end.

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{4. High School!AU}

_(was it bad timing?)_

Get your head out of your locker, baby.

Best friends don't want to kiss your mouth.

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In his arms is a tower of books, shakily stacked upon one another; chemistry and physics, algebra and geometrics, amongst others. The hallway is relatively empty, the sunlight cascades through the large rectangular windows making up most of the right wall devoid of lockers and outside a few students titter-tatter about inconspicuous outings last Saturday night. Wally can barely manage to see from above the hard cover of the basic grammar of the French language, but this does not deter him in contently chattering away with his best friend.

Whose arms are completely devoid of textbooks.

Dick makes a comical comment which leaves Wally laughing wildly, green irises incandescent in genuine happiness. He steadies himself when the ginger retorts in kind, a sly smirk curled upon his lips, the flat of his palm plasters itself against the cool metal of his locker door.

"Dude," He drags out the 'u', "You're insane if you think _Bruce _is going to sponsor you at a hotdog eating contest."

Wally rolls his eyes and groans in response, "Dickie, you're not thinking economically, here. It'd be a _**grand **_business opportunity, okay?" He hears some rummaging and assumes correctly that his friend is busy unlocking his locker.

One by one the books disappear into the cramped space, carefully and alphabetically arranged. Wally mutters _neurotic _under his breath but does so with a fond smile.

"Uh. No. It's just you stuffing your face, you dork. Nothing grand 'bout that, at all.."

Waving the only textbook he's still holding in his hand around, the pages falling open like a Spanish fan before clamping shut against his thigh, the ginger retorts, "Whatever, bro. Hey, you doin' something this Friday night?"

Thoughtfully pulling his lower lip into the cavern of his mouth, Dick raises his chin and glances at the ceiling, before finally shaking his head no. "Maybe a history prep session.. Why?"

Raquel Ervin saunters by, her hips casually swinging in motion and silver earrings gleaming in the molten white sunrays, before she stops at the two and regards them in mild disbelief. She shakes her head, fits her knuckles snugly upon her side and offers Wally especially a wicked smirk.

"Oh, _puh-lease_, Grayson. He's been meaning to ask you out since you turned your baby-blues his way."

Dick tilts his head in consideration and stares pensively at his friend, eyebrows slightly raised. While all the ginger manages to stutter out is a weak, _well this is awkward_.

And then, eventually, "You, uh, down bro?"

He slams his locker door shut with a gleeful grin, "Sure, _Wallman, _for a date at least. You'll have to wait a while before getting _**down **_on me, though." Raquel breaks down in a fit of chortles and raspy chuckles.

Wally's so red he could audition for a Koolaid commercial.

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{5. Brotemis}

_She gives him fashion advice, like they're in Glamorama._

Says something along the lines of…

Honey, clothes like that put people in a coma.

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"Please tell me you're not _actually_ considering to pull *that* shirt over your head." She remarks intrigued from her place at the doorframe, arms crossed coolly over her chest and the back of her head almost against the metal cadre. "Mmmh, Kid Freak?" Her canines are visible, contrasting against the natural French rose of her plump lips.

Turning his head to regard her from his spot in front of the opened wardrobe with its shelves full of scattered shirts and stray socks, Wally sees her observing her blackened nails with all the nonchalance of a bored tomcat. He can't quite help the irritated groan before molding the bright yellow shirt into a ball and literally throwing it back into the closet.

"What do you want, Blondie? Can't you see I'm kinda busy o'er here?"

She pushes herself off the sturdy doorframe and saunters over to him, her deep gray eyes drag a trail over his pale freckled arms, the white wifebeater, the choice of pants before scrutinizing the contents of his closet with the flair of a fashionista. _Geez_, who gave her a Cosmo last night, he thinks to himself quietly when her forefinger flips over coat hangers and folded fabric.

Settling for a plain black singlet, Artemis grabs the clothing article and pushes it into his chest, pointedly ignoring the flabbergasted expression on his features and the slackened jaw. "This. And find your custard and black checkered lumberjack." Her eyebrows bundle together when she sweeps her gaze over his pants again.

He fumbles awkwardly with the cotton material in between his fingers, feeling the need to stumble out a flustered _excuse me?_

"Ditch the pants."

"Wait, what? Why?! They're my fav…" Artemis raises her hand to cut him off, an amused smirk playing along her lips.

She hauls one hand through her long tresses, "You got nice legs, Baywatch. And I for one, _know _that a little birdie lo-o-oves looking at them. And those.." A quick motion to the jeans, "Completely spoil the view. Too baggy. Make your ass look _aw_ful."

Spinning in the direction of the wardrobe again, the archer pulls out a pair of simple denims, casual chic and comfortable. Wally absentmindedly wonders how the blonde even knows his _garderobe_ this well, but decides not to dwell on minor details. They did have that little fling a few months ago.

Her hand settles on the curve of his shoulder, "Remember it's impolite to drool during dinner, Kid Dork, and you'll do fine on your…" Artemis drops the word with a hint of a genuine smile in her tone of voice, "_**Date**__._"

"Where would I be without you, Artie?" Wally asks, blurring the line between an actual question and the rhetoric with his glowing grin.

She merely shrugs in response, "Lost, of course."

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{6. Dead! Dick & | or Wally}

_Who's that hanging from the gallow tree?_

_(his eyes are hollow and he looks like me)_

Can you please unwind the noose and let me go?

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Sometimes after long winding nights, back when they were young(er) and easily excited, Wally would stir a spoonful of strawberry jam in Dick's mug of coffee to kick-start him back into full alert. It's strange how after dregs of years and snaps of memories' tails, after death took him by the ankle and dragged him into this specter-like state, the ginger _still _remembers the scrunch of his best friend's eyebrows at the mere taste.

He can't operate the coffee maker anymore, his hands fall flat through the machinery. After a few months such trivial things upset him even more.

Dick wastes his eyesight in the darkness and the harsh unyielding light of his laptop screen. Images of a best friend disappearing, of whirlwinds and white _white _snow, of sprinting and lagging behind his relatives, some sort of allegory Dante himself could never write. Wally wants to whine in frustration but the sound cannot cross the distance between them, even though he's sitting opposite of the acrobat on the mattress. Nothing but a computer and boundless determination between them.

"You want to hear something funny?" Jason asks from where he sits perched on the window sill of the bedroom. He's still in costume, tattered and frayed and crisp with dried blood.

Wally feels chains around his neck, not iron nor rope, but solemnly made of emotions and lack of acceptance. _Let me go_, he wants to hiss into Dick's ear, _let me go, dude, it's okay_. It seemed so much easier in Hollywood terms, but he can't pull a Swayze. Not to mention his friend is hardly the type to go out for a pottery baking session.

"What?" His voice is still crystal-clear, his eyes are sharp and well-adjusted to the ill illuminated room.

Jason regards his adoptive brother for a moment, drums his gloved fingertips on his patellae and lightly shakes his head. Letting the parapraxis slide between them, Wally opts to ignore the emotional turmoil, certain that Batfamily relations are a beehive not even Jung himself would touch.

"Grayson has been in love with you since day one. Fucking idiot will cling to the notion you're still alive for the rest of his pathetic life." Jason's fingers stiffen, as rigid as their rigor mortis counterparts six feet under.

No one laughs, there is no comedy in the situation, not a trace of humor in any of their voices. Wally shakes his head lightly, light-headed all of a sudden.

"He just has to let me go."

There's a bitter scoff in rebuttal, "Like he's letting go of me? How long since he's let his parents go? Huh, Kid Shithead? We'll be stuck here for a while." Jason buries his nose into the palm of his hand, helpless and angry.

Silence remains aside from Nightwing's fingers flying over the keyboard.

_Taptaptaptap…_

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{7. Food}

_The most important thing in a kitchen isn't how delectable the food is,_

_But how happy you are while you're there._

_(Jo Kyung-Ran; Tongue)_

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Underneath the counter, away from the many pairs of eyes of their teammates, Robin and Kid Flash link their forefingers and middle fingers, hook them tightly as if to try to stay grounded together forever. There's the smell of bread baking in the oven, warm and familiar and a faint hint of fresh fruit is tangible to their sensitive nostrils. Fatigue might coat their bones like the layer of butter will on the golden brown baguettes in a few moments, but their smiles stay frozen on their mouths. One of them tightens their grasp, a surprising squeeze.

Kaldur busies himself by chopping the strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, apples and bananas in slivers. He knows how to wield the kitchen knife, does so with the concentration of an actual French chef and rhythmically slices through the subtle sweet flesh of the fruits. He separates them by kind, three bowls situated in front of him on the counter and drops them one by one in the correct container. In the lines between his eyebrows, there is still a trace of unsettlement, a remainder from their previous mission.

At the same time, Artemis, a band-aid across her cheek and a swollen bottom lip, stretches onto the tips of her toes to grab a jar of jam and the Nutella from one of the cabinets. She lets out a sarcastic remark about one of their foes, which in turns causes Zatanna and M'gann to burst into cheery chortles. The magician arranges the plates and glasses for the orange juice, while Miss M telepathically moves the cutlery across the expanse of the kitchen. Underneath the layer of conversation, the drip-drip of the coffee maker steadily increases.

Wally lets out a happy sigh, bumping his shoulder against the Boy Wonder next to him on one of the bar stools. His stomach hums for sustenance, but he's content and calm. Superboy enters the precinct, knuckles still bone-white with anger and shoulders still straight and tense. However upon the overpowering scent of _breakfast_ and the happy atmosphere his stiff posture sags and he manages a weak smirk in response to M'gann's greeting.

There's a _**ping**_. Robin laughs, although the gesture hurts his bruised ribs, when Kid Flash zips over to the oven and almost pries the door open without mittens.

They all settle down, eat and chatter and chuckle. Even Conner, who was unreasonably rattled by the events last night. Even Kaldur whose guilt nibbles on his insides.

Robin and Kid Flash link fingers again under the counter, away from the many pair of eyes from their teammates.

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{8. Animal! Dick & | or Wally}

Mister Grayson _had a cat,_

_On his lap it sat, on his lap it sat._

_It looked like that Cheshire cat did smile._

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July is scorching this year, Dick thinks to himself as he walks out of his bathroom with a towel snug around his hips and a few lukewarm water drops sliding down his abdomen. They leave a blurred weeping trail behind on his slightly tanned skin. His soles are tickled by the fuzzy material of the rug. Wally quips its ginger head, intrinsic iridescent green irises dwindle due to the black orbs of its pupils enlarging, its ears twitch upwards into perfect triangles.

Curving its spine as the tomcat stretches its paws in front of him, the pet plucks itself from its comfortable spot and races over to its master, the rumble of pleasure twisting in its stomach. Dick can't resist to coo at the cat as it drapes itself over the expanse of his foot, furry back rubbing all over bare skin. He holds the knot of his towel firmly in one hand while slightly crouching to slide invisible lines over Wally's tummy with two fingers.

"What's the matter, kitty?" He inquires sweetly, pitch tuned and lips curled, "Haven't you finished yesterday's lasagna already?"

Wally purrs, deep and low, twirling over its master's foot and pawing at the tall pillar which is its master's leg. Its claws unsheathe playfully and flit over flesh. Dick shakes his head, before scratching slowly behind his pet's large ears.

"Now, _Wally_." He suddenly says, "I really, really need to get dressed. Kaldur has his swimming competition tonight." His fingertip pushes painlessly against the fur between the cat's eyes. "And y'know Artemis gets pissy if I miss her boyfriend's performance, _**again**_."

After eventually managing to persuade the tom to roll off and disentangle its paws from his ankles, Dick saunters over to his closet and quickly opens the double doors. Wally mewls in disagreement, sways behind its master in even strides and settles itself between its master's feet. Its tail curls like a question mark, fuzzy and orange.

Wally follows a wayward droplet of water sliding down its master's leg with attentive eyes, from the muscled calf down to the heel and absentmindedly allows its sandpaper tongue to dart out and lick the outline of its muzzle. It raises its gaze, until the cat finds itself staring directly between its master's legs.

_Humans are so peculiar_, the tom could be thinking to himself, after slowly blinking and taking in the view. _So hairless_, perhaps and Wally is an intelligent animal, so maybe the cat's thoughts could contain something along the lines of _anatomically profound_.

Towel gone, the very towel Wally sometimes likes to take a nap on, Dick shoos away his pet and tugs his boxers over the curve of his behind. They're a deep navy blue. Yet the only thing of interest to the cat is how undeniably soft the material is, and how Wally sometimes stows itself on its master's lap when he's _just _wearing those particular undergarments.

Wally doesn't like it when Dick leaves him alone. He's a rather selfish cat, after all.

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{9. Time Travel}

_Backdated trip, backfired whip._

_You bite your lip, but do what you want._

_(it's as good as you can handle.)_

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"You look familiar."

His words are somewhat accusing, much like the furrow of his light-haired eyebrows and the lines around his tightly drawn together lips. He seems to be mulling over different faces, comparing features between himself and a person who doesn't exist _just _yet. Dick exhales evenly, feeling the fabric of his gloves stretch over his knuckles as he clenches his fists and the faint summer breeze runs over his cheeks, abrasive like sand. Central City hasn't changed and this ridiculous thought almost makes him laugh.

Zatanna's parting repeats itself in his brain like a warning bell, sound like silver and clear like glass. _Don't look for him and please, please, don't __**talk **__to him, Dick_.

It was a simple assignment; he's thirty now, drenched in experience and soaked in sorrow, but he has a purpose and a solemnly sworn vow to serve and protect. His uniforms differ, but his intentions do not. Kaldur had called upon him; there was discrepancy in the time and space continuum, an incident that needed to be avoided and dealt with swiftly. There was a thinly veiled _or else_ in the document. Devil's _always_ in the details.

He was given 24 hours to get the job done properly; to locate the target, to derail the usual routine and reroute her movements inconspicuously. She was to survive this particular day without _any _problems. Dick hasn't seen fate being this terrible to anyone before, he had to stop a mugging incognito, catch her attention to prevent her from being hit by oncoming traffic and eventually push her out of the way when a beam from a construction site came tumbling down.

She was safe and the vigilante still had three hours to spare. Dick had been up and running since four o'clock in the morning, tracking and safeguarding the woman.

_And then he had run into Wally_.

Involuntarily Dick felt the sudden rush of time-travelling again, the cool touch of Zatanna's fingers on his forehead before she cast the spell, the sudden swirl of his surroundings, the dizziness. His heart probably looks like Swiss cheese, full of badly patched up holes. Food makes him want to throw up right now.

Wally still stares at him, inquisitive green eyes and a mouth running fifteen miles a second.

Nightwing wonders what the kid is apologizing about; _was he rude? Did he care?_ And the desire is there to warn him, to tell him, to inform him and protect him. This kid was, _**is**_ his best friend.

He forces a smile upon his lips, although they feel frostbitten, and politely shakes his head. "No, I never saw you before." Dick pretends to check the watch on his wrist. It's a holographic computer actually, but from the current angle Wally might not see the difference. "I'm sorry but I'm running late…"

There's a slight hesitation and eventually, "Take care, okay?"

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{10. Cuddling}

_S-s-so, let's set up and see, love._

'_cause you're my medicine._

_When you're close to me, when you're close to me._

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Down his ankle, a tremor trudges onwards, upwards, past his calf, the inside of his knee, to his upper-leg and nestles itself in the dimple next to his hipbone. This harmless occurrence sets Wally's arms in motion; they wrap themselves tightly around his narrow waist, tug him closer to the warmth of Wally's chest and hold him securely in place. Dick exhales shakily, feels the lump in his throat unbundle and slide down his esophagus in wiry wisps.

"It wasn't real, dude." His voice is kitten-fur soft, and his exhale of breath tickles the black hairs pasted to his forehead.

They're flat on the couch, a tangled mess of limbs and qualmish quakes, and if Dick blocks out the constant lull of the static on the enormous television screen and the buzzing of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the lights, he'd let the steady _ba-dump, ba-dump _of Wally's hummingbird heartbeat fill his eardrum.

One hand moves, palm strong and fingers stretched and open, rubs the expanse of his clothed back and struggles to wipe away the strong imprint of the mental exercise.

Another reassurance is proffered, accompanied by the light press of lips upon the tip of his pointy nose, "We're alive, lovebird. Alive and kickin'. Built this city on rock 'n roll, like rollin' stones, alive."

Somewhere, in the slumbering depths of his subconscious, his instincts remind him that Wally's reaction to the entire episode is unnatural, unhealthy, but his soft ministrations manage to ease the Boy Wonder. His head follows the heaving of Wally's chest. He sighs, slides his eyelids shut and tightens his own grip around the ginger's ribcage.

Dick wants to make the speedster promise that it won't ever, _ever_ become real, that no matter **what** they'll stay together and alive. Wishful thinking, his mentor would reprimand him as if he were a petulant child, better hold on a bit longer just in case.

He regards Kid Flash from behind the dark-colored glasses of his shades, observes the freckles splattered generously over his cheeks, the button of his nose, the set jaw and the gritting of teeth. "Stay the night?"

"Dude.." Wally whines, "This couch is gonna kill my back.." They stare at each other and Dick can feel a triumphant grin curling up his mouth, "Fi-i-ine. But you better not move an inch, lovebird."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Kid Mouth."

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{11. Fantasy!AU}

_(and I think of you in motion.)_

_All down my veins, my heart-strings call._

You're the one I've been waiting for.

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He believes his mother told him the story about the string of jewels; his gaze glides over the beady bracelet around her supple wrist, falls further down to observe how her slender fingers are linked with Conner's stronger and slightly scarred ones. Richard proffers a congratulatory smile and nods curtly. They were once a milky, almost watery white, those marbles strung together like a set of pearls, and upon meeting the fearsome guard from the southern garrison, they had transformed into a tender turquoise to make the colors of their bracelets match.

_These strings of jewels_, his mother had started with an encouraging simper, _signify the string of souls, my little robin_. His parents' colors had been a rich dark navy blue with a sliver of silver. His are still a shade of nacre, adaptable to change. Subconsciously, his fingertips brush briefly over the cool yet heavy beads.

M'gann, the princess from one of the northern tribes he is supposed to accompany, chortles lowly when Conner bristles and offers a complaint about the taverns' service. Her hair, a shade of dark cupper, curls around her cheekbones and she's rarely beheld without a smile gracing her plump lips. Richard considers them a fine match.

"Excuse me! Coming through!" They all raise their heads to observe the bearer of such a loud ringing voice. "Didn't you hear me? I clearly said I was coming through, _gah._"

His friend snorts upon seeing the interruption; a redheaded messenger bearing the crest of the central kingdom with a large mouth and fair silk-like skin. Richard is about to turn around to resume conversation when the herald bumps into him. His pupils dilate upon contact and as wildfire, a sensation surges along his spine, seeps into the vertebrae and coats the bone as if it were a sweet, sweet syrup.

"Beg.. Beg your.." He stammers, apparently witnessing the same symptoms.

Inside their beads, the milky fog starts to unfurl and clear away to release a speckled scarlet and gold. M'gann breaks the silence by giggling in enthusiasm and clapping her hands lightly.

Richard stares into the messenger's eyes and the fact that those irises are a catlike green hardly seems to register into his mind.

"So.. Uhm, do we kiss now or something? _Sir soulmate?_" Conner groans at the remark and tugs M'gann a bit closer to him.

He rubs the bracelet mindlessly and smirks at the redhead, "How 'bout you tell me your name first and we'll take it from there."

"Wallace West, at your service. But I guess you can call me Wally, baby-blues." His statement comes along with a curtsey and a good-natured grin.

"Richard Grayson, and I might treat you a jug of wine and a meal if you drop _**that **_ nickname."

Wally positively glows at the prospect, "If you keep pampering me like _this_, I might actually start to believe we were made for each other." His scarlet and gold beads bump together as he moves to sit next to the guard with a jesters' flair.

.

.

{12. Pining! Dick &|or Wally}

_(I'd rather be wrong, than live in the shadows of your sun.)_

_My mind is open wide._

_And now I'm ready to start._

.

.

There's a tacky Batman bobble-head on the dashboard of the Honda Civic and the warmth outside is so scalding and scorching it pastes the fabric of his shirt flush against his sweat-soaked back. He peers at the person in the driver's seat from his peripheral, drums his short-clipped nails upon the warm armrest, _some Top 40 song he heard in an undercover mission a while ago_, and takes a deep breath.

Wally smiles at him with pearls of sweat glimmering along his forehead, where ginger hair meets flustered flesh. "This is it, dude. I mean, this is it, _for serious_. I'm gonna go to college and live together with the girl of my dreams and do some scientific research and- and.."

Resettling his expensive sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, Dick responds to his best friend's enthusiasm with a slant of the lips. His vocal chords react on autopilot, "Bro, I'm seriously happy for you and.." He almost falters, "Artie. Bit whelmed here to be honest. Who knew Kid Dork could grow up?"

Knuckles scour the crown of his head, "Birdie, _**please**_, I'm very mature for my age." They both share a laugh at that.

There's a disassembled IKEA wardrobe in the trunk, a couple of suitcases in the backseat of the car and a heartbroken boy in the passenger's seat. One of these isn't going to join the speedster to his new home at Stanford university. Can _you _guess which one?

Dick can count on one hand all the instances he had wished to confess to his best friend that he harbors feelings of a more romantic, intimate nature towards him. This particular scene in Rudy's Honda Civic constitutes his thumb and makes number five. He honestly doubts there will be a moment after this.

"You're quiet, dude." Wally remarks while sweeping his gaze over the fuel gauge. "Gettin' philosophical?" His tone isn't outstandingly teasing, but rather complacent and almost something akin to careful.

If Dick stretched his arm, he could place the palm of his hand over the back of Wally's, he could entwine their fingers and peer over the brim of his shades and just confess. Let the emotional maelstrom whirl past the gate of his lips. _I love you. I love you. I __**need **__you._

Instead he shakes his head, falls deeper into the hot cushion of the passenger's seat and tilts his chin upwards. "Nah. Just thinkin' about that fight I had with Bruce. Sorry to spoil the mood."

"Hey." His friend starts softly, looking directly at his profile, "Just 'cause I'm going to Stanford, it doesn't mean you can't talk to me anymore 'bout stuff. We'll always be _**besties**_."

Dick can't suppress the fit of snickers, "What are we? Valley girls?"

"Well, you had that big-ass cake on your birthday. And I'm pretty sure MTV asked you 'bout joining a reality show at least once." Wally retorts, his grin so wide almost all his teeth are exposed.

"Twice, actually." His eyelids slide shut, with his best friend burned on their interior.

.

.

{13. OT3}

_Stay by my side, it's sexy._

_The way that we talk 'bout stuff, the way that we laugh with love._

_So stay by my side._

.

.

They've been celebrating her acceptance to the Justice League for three successive days; bottles of Moët & Chandon on the nightstand, ripped panties tied in a ribbon around a lamp, a wayward domino mask forgotten on the floor and emptied containers of cheap Chinese take-out on a coffee table. Music floats through the hotel room, _Arctic Monkeys_, and the dirty guitar riff effectively pushes Wally out of his sleepy stupor. His arm is draped around Dick's midriff and he feels the camber of Zatanna's breasts upon his back. He suppresses a yawn and carefully shimmies from between his two lovers. The girl to his right groans and nuzzles closer to the former Boy Wonder, her hair blankets her rosy cheeks and the expanse of her neck is littered with lovebites.

Wally smirks, stretches his arms above his head and walks around the temporary residence in search of something edible. His throat feels stuffed with cotton and he realizes he should've laid off the mini bars' Martini.

"Come back to bed, KF." Dick murmurs, tone of voice deep and husky and a tad raspy from tequila shots and last night's lasagna of the house. He turns his head slowly, observes him with half-lidded eyes.

Wally chuckles, one sock on his left foot and its counterpart missing, "I'm hungry, Rob. Just gonna grab a bite. Keep Zee warm, she has goosebumps on her arms."

_Do I wanna know _fades into a house record, _Bakermat _with _Vandaag _and in his fuzzy memories the ginger faintly remembers one of his lovers translating the Dutch for him but there have been copious amounts of liquor and countless of congratulatory messages from all kinds of people so he doesn't really know anything anymore. Except the taste of Zee's chapstick and Dick's hand between his legs.

Zatanna rouses, her big toe twitches and she sits up straight. Her _coiffure _is bedhead-chic and Dick tenderly smoothens a few unruly tresses. She gives him a teasing smile before pushing him back down on his back.

"Yoohoo, ginger boy." She coos, sleep evident in her eyes and voice, "Don't you want to crawl back under the sheets with us?"

A grin graces his features, "Only if I can get some food first, baby-doll."

"Elbat eht no stnassioc." She commands, while the former Boy Wonder cuddles closer to her.

He shakes his head, laughing lightly and grabs one of the pastries, "Who needs roomservice with a babe like you?"

Dick pouts, "Aren't you forgetting someone, Kid Dork?"

"_**Never**_." Wally practically jumps on the king-sized mattress, enveloping both Zatanna and Dick in his arms, the croissant half-hanging in and out of his mouth.

Zee tears off a piece, "Oh, breakfast."

Rolling his eyes, the former Robin curls his fingers under Wally's chin and brings his mouth closer before sinking his teeth into the croissant. Their eyelids don't flutter shut, instead they regard each other intensively.

"Does this mean my boys are ready for round.. Uh, what number are we on again?"

.

.

{14. Holidays}

_Oh it's such a perfect day,_

_(you just keep my hanging on.)_

_You make me forget myself._

.

.

_30 _~ M'gann has her arms wrapped around Conner's neck and her cheeks are the same shade as the rosé wine in the crystalline flutes, contrasting with the green of her skin. She's laughing, flustered, and starts the countdown in cue with the reporter on the large plasma screen.

_25 _~ On the dance floor, buried under generous amounts of confetti and glimmering glitters like rhinestones, Artemis attempts to teach Kaldur the Charleston of all possible dances. Maybe because they've both enjoyed the Great Gatsby. She has a smile that could light up the entire base, Wally thinks to himself.

_17 _~ Dick leaves his conversation with Tim and Barbara, walking in the speedster's direction like a _predator_, looking superb in an expensive Armani sweater and designer jeans. He unconsciously wets his bottom lip.

_16_ ~From his peripheral, he can see Zatanna and Raquel counting along, they're holding hands and wearing cocktail dresses. He supposes _Rihanna _had a point in shining bright like diamonds. His hands are getting clammy.

_13 _~ "Hey, KF."

_12 _~ "Hey-a, Rob. Looking good, dude."

_10 _~ Conner has his arms tight and secure around Miss M's waist and his lips are twisted into a frugal but heartfelt smile. His eyes reflect the changing lights, _fuchsia_, _lemon yellow_, _aqua green_.

_9 _~ "Oh, uh, yeah. Babs helped me pick these.. Alfred wanted me in a suit, but I prefer things more.. Casual. Do you like the _hors d'oeuvres_?" He gestures towards the crouton in the speedster's hands. Wally follows his gaze and offers a grin.

"Yeah. Alfie should start a catering business or something. They're great.." He chuckles nervously.

_3 _~ "Can I kiss you when the timer reaches zero?"

_2 _~ "Wha.. What? I mean.. Uh, sure. Oh, _shit_, I'm not all that smooth, huh?"

_1 _~ He nearly drops the food in his hand when Dick closes the distance between them. There's a distinct _pop_ in the distance, (_0 _), probably someone opening one of the champagne bottles Jaime procured for them from an undisclosed convenience store with an immigrant tenant. Wally's fingers tug on the belt loops of his best friend's pants to pull him flush against him. Arms wind around his neck and fingernails lightly scratch his nape and _wow_, is there any better way to start the new year? Dick has the faint taste of basil and olive pesto on the tip of his tongue. Artemis starts cat-calling when she spots them in the corner and Raquel soon whistles.

"Happy New Year, KF." He says, almost inaudible over the bass blasting from the speakers.

Wally exhales and nearly steps on his crouton, "Happy New Year, Rob.. I, uh.. Let's do that again? Like right now. No time like the present and…" His lips dab against those of his best friend and he couldn't care less about the mandatory glass of champagne nor the fireworks on Times Square broadcasted live.

Cliché as it sounds, the real fireworks are happening right about _here_, baby.

.

.

{15. Circus}

_Color blind, I'm color blind._

Paint everything so black, go ahead and paint it black, baby.

_Need some color in my life._

.

.

For a blissful moment all the lights go out in his head, he only feels the pressure of the multicolored mask upon the bridge of his nose and around his eye sockets, the pleasant pull of gravity on his ankle and this unbearable sickly heat. Air cushions him and guide his stretched arms upwards and pushes the bar of the trapeze back into his sweaty, clammy palms. M'gann smiles unsurely at him, accompanied by the bright circus lights and the teeny tiny smartphone screens littered amongst the crowd. He exhales shakily.

They finish their performance and he dabs at his temple to wipe away respiration, the spotlights make the corners of his eyes burn and the smell of animals pricks at his nostrils.

"Robin, are you okay?" He hears Roy whisper against the shell of his ear, the skin is sensitive and he just wants to lie down for a minute.

Maybe he mutters something along the lines of, _just a fever_, or _'m fine, Speedy_. Dick can't quite remember his exact words, but a hand rests gently upon his lower back and pushes him along.

His thoughts are lining up, piling up, memories sag, deflate into mush and a shiver crawls down his spine, slowly, _slowly. _One particular poster catches his attention and the cool winter air does wonders for his overheated cheeks. Bruges was supposed to be nice this time of year, he thinks he hears someone saying.

Dick wants to call Wally. He needs incessant rambling filling his brain, he needs the distraction of counting freckles, he _needs_ to lie down and relax for a moment. At least, Robin suspects that's what the speedster would recommend him.

There's still a palm flatly resting above the curve of his behind and his tired gaze follows the arm attached to the hand only to stare at the masked face of Artemis. She has her lips pursed and motions towards the performers' dressing rooms. It's a light and comforting weight.

"Com'on, Brat Wonder. I'm freezing my tights off here." He wants to cackle, because she really has the older sister-routine down to a T. Nothing leaves his mouth except for a white puff of breath.

Regaining control of his senses again, as if the fever suddenly backed off, dwindled into nothing but a ball of uneasiness, Robin straightens his posture and offers a curt nod, followed by one of his usual comebacks.

Faded colors, ochre and silver and a bleak red, slowly retreat from his peripheral as he moves forward. He swallows a lump down his throat and offers a weak smile to a worried-looking M'gann.

He's going to call Wally soon, Dick thinks to himself, and maybe when the ginger has tried to hammer some sense into his head, his heart won't ache this much anymore.

.

.

{16. Wordplay | Dude}

_About as subtle as an earthquake, I know._

(and it's as solid as a rock rolling down a hill)

_And it's a lot to ask._

.

.

"_Dude_." It falls from his lips easily; staring straight at the teenager in front of him with the Ray-Ban wayfarers perched on the bridge of his nose and the messy black hair falling onto his forehead in strips.

Dick lets a tentative smirk play upon his lips, pressing cute little dimples next to his mouth. His forefinger curls around the stark black frame, tilting the glasses downwards to reveal a pair of stunning blue eyes.

His words are teasing, "You didn't answer, _Walls_."

Wally, shell-shocked with furrowed brows and parchment-pale cheeks, only manages to stutter out another long-stretched _dude_. He awkwardly shuffles his right foot, until the tip of the Converse sneaker rubs along the side of his left.

"Can I count your silence as a confirmation to my request or are you finally feeling whelmed enough to say something else than 'dude' all the time?" He taps impatiently against his chin, the smirk never falling from his features and leaning predominantly on his left leg.

He blinks- once, twice, and hauls a hand through his spiky ginger hair before taking a deep breath. "Are you, like, serious, dude?"

Quirk of the brow, shifting onto his right leg, hand falling casually against his upper-leg, Dick can't resist but shaking his head slightly before assuring his best friend, _yeah, bro, I am serious._

"But.. But, what makes me, you know, fit for the job? I mean, weren't you and Zee.." Wally bumps the tips of his index fingers together, "Uhum, an item or something."

Dick rolls his eyes, "For a while, yes, but we both decided we needed to see other people." Another meaningful glance is sent in the speedster's direction.

Wally's mouth twists into an 'o'-shape and he quietly nods to himself. "But, dude, prom is special and stuff."

His best friend reaches out and touches his bare arm, creating a river of goosebumps along the curve of his elbow and lower-arm down to his wrist. "That's why I'm asking _you_." Taunting sneer, "Dude."

"You better get us matching corsages." He retorts, allowing the calloused palm to trail down the expanse of his naked arm until their hands fold together. "And a limo. _Dude, _I totally demand a limo."

He cackles, "Does that mean you're going to be my boyfriend, Wally?"

Wally nearly chokes on his own spit, "Wait, what? Dude! I thought you asked me out on a _**prom date**_."

"I usually just ask people out when I want to invest in a long-term relationship with them." He gives the ginger a gentle squeeze, almost bashfully looks away. He feels nervous, even though he's spent three weeks planning this moment.

There's a soft exhale of breath, undetectable to untrained ears and his friend opens his mouth to speak, "Well, let's just see how the date goes first, okay?" Wally tenderly squeezes back and offers a sweet smile. "I still demand a limo though." Another squeeze, a twitch of the lips.

"How about I buy you one this afternoon?" Dick jokes, fingers linked.

"_Dude_!"

.

.

{17. Rule 63! Dick & | or Wally}

_All you have to do is speak out my name, yeah._

Could it be me? Could it really, really be?

_And I would come running, anyway._

.

.

"Thanks for coming over, Wendy." She says from her spot in front of the mirror, brushing her silken strands, "This whole event is asterous. Heavy on the _dis_."

Rolling her eyes, the ginger rolls over on her stomach and props her chin on her gloved knuckles, "It's a _**fundraiser**_, Dixie chick. You're going to be shaking hands and puffing out air kisses the entire afternoon."

Applying a modest amount of rosé powder on her cheekbones to bring out the crystal blue of her irises, the girl starts, "For Lex Luthor, Kid Idiot. Thus it is implied that I have to refrain from stomping on his toes with my heels. Or round-house kick him in the face"

Wendy smirks, inspecting the confines of the hotel room; a four-poster bed, art nouveau furniture, two Gucci suitcases in the far right corner, a door decorated with multi-colored glass leading to the bathroom, and a mini-bar. In front of her are multiple mini-bags with Lays chips and M&Ms, empty.

"And that's a reason to call me over to Milan?" She asks, almost bored aside from watching attentively how her girlfriend adds the finishing touches to her make-up.

Dixie regards her in the reflection of the mirror, a coy smile playing upon her lips, "Well, I didn't expect you to be in costume.." She puts a lock of hair behind her ear, "But I was _kinda _hoping we could go sight-seeing afterwards. Pretty please?"

"Honey, you're unbelievable." Wendy remarks dryly, pulling at the material of her glove on her forefinger before taking it off entirely. "You do have a spare outfit for me, right? Because spandex gets uncomfortable in this type of weather."

Her girlfriend hums in agreement, stands up and arranges the fabric of her little black Chanel dress around her waist. Strolling over to luggage, she winks at the redhead on the mattress in passing. Dixie unzips the one of the suitcases and throws a few skirts and shirts onto the flawless parquet.

"You're making me wear designer? Gosh, before you know it, the tourists will think I'm a famous model." Wendy jokes, peering over the bed at the clothing articles. She then blows her girlfriend a kiss, "When will you be back?"

Dixie grins, "Four o'clock, give or take twenty minutes." She taps her chin pensively, "The remote for the flat screen is on the nightstand, room service is on Bruce and the make-up is a gift by Yves Saint Laurent."

She pauses at the door, "I'm happy you came for me, Wendy.."

Raising an eyebrow, the ginger just lightly shakes her head, "You just have to say the word, Dixie chick and I'll come _racin' for you._"

Breaking down in a wide smile, the acrobat slowly slides the door shut and Wendy can faintly hear the hollow thuds of Dixie's Louboutins resounding in the hallway. She stretches lazily and gets up. _Time to look for my baby's underwear, because I am so __**not **__going commando in Italy._

.

.

{18. Wally's powers}

_If there's hope in your heart, it would float to every part._

Don't say it's easy to follow a progress,

There's nothing harder than keeping a promise.

.

.

Everything turns into mush: the images in his peripheral transform until they're indistinguishable, disturbing blobs of color and shape and eventually even those indicators of difference melt into something indiscernible. His train of thought derails, the proverbial wagons disconnect, fall away and everything runs rampart inside. Various equations curl around the crooks of his brain, snippets of conversation push defiantly at his concentration and there are miscellaneous sentences, quotes, catchphrases flashing in front of his retina's.

_Skittles come and taste the.. I'm your new teammate, Baywatch … Find your own little Spitfire… Birds come flying at the speed of… I go where you go.._

He finds it extremely difficult to focus when he's just broken the barrier of sound, when the rubber of his goggles presses against the skin around his eyes, when the rules of physics try to one up him at every turn. Static rumbles through his eardrums and panic forces his ribs to curl tightly around his heart and he has to bring himself to pay attention to his breathing. Wally thinks he's experiencing a serious case of tunnel vision because everything whirls around him, memories and projections alike with the light at the end burning brightly.

Wally also realizes _Rob _is at the finish line and he has to find him. So, in order to bring his best friend, _no_, his lover, his brother, his **everything** back, he has to push just a tiny bit harder, has to run a tiny bit faster, has to do things a tiny bit better.

The rest of the team is left in his dust, vindictive and ferocious in their own right because no one harms their family and expects to leave unscathed. Superboy is _furious_ and practically tore out an entire chunk of machinery soldered to the ground in order to throw it at a batch of guards. Artemis is a _tigress_, all precision and deadliness, fangs bare and claws unsheathed. M'gann leaves _no one_ stable, smashes them into walls and crumbles their minds. Even Aqualad has _lost his cool_.

There's a wall in front of him and Wally starts to shake, feels his molecules starting to contract and disassemble and he has to breathe properly or he'll smack face-first against the concrete wall. He thinks of Robin, he thinks about the ominous cackle and the many game sessions at night and he thinks about their first kiss together. He can't stop running and he can't stop shaking and the wall is nearing him- or rather he is nearing the wall.

Kid Flash exhales, and the tunnel flattens, the scramble which constitutes his thinking unbundles into parallel lines until everything is pristinely organized and compartmented into boxes. He's in another room, no longer the narrow hallway he was racing through, with startled guards surrounding a figure on a chair. Kid Flash inhales when they start to move and his lungs positively burn from the exertion.

"How did you get here?!" – "Hey-a, Kid Mouth, took you long enough."

Wally grins, "Oh _Rob, _you know the party doesn't start 'til I walk in."

.

.

{19. Double date}

_We have a table for four, in the state of Denver._

_Downtown some random McDonalds,_

And all I'm thinkin' bout is, would you like some fries with that?

.

.

Robin is exhausted- his left kneecap is bruised, his elbow is bleeding and the baggy jeans he had to don to maintain their undercover façade are shredded from the knees downwards. From the speakers in the corners of the dining room, Taylor Swift claims she knew he was trouble since he walked in and the penetrating smell of grease and burgers fill his nostrils steadily. He sighs, tiredly, and takes a sip from his large Sprite. Next to him, Wally in his own skater-attire, gulps down a portion of Chicken McNuggets all the while trying to stuff French fries into his obscenely big mouth.

"Why.. Is there a pony in this cardboard box?" Conner asks, baffled, prodding ceaselessly at a pink plastic horse. Wally nearly chokes.

M'gann, pale and not-green, raises a cupper eyebrow and lightly shakes her head, "I suppose that's why they call it a Happy Meal, Superboy. Because there are toys inside.." She looks at Robin to confirm her statement and smiles happily when he slowly, unsurely nods.

Their table is covered underneath half-chewed chicken morsels and the Boy Wonder clacks his tongue in distaste. "Good job, _Wall-man_." He dabs at the surface in front of him with a paper napkin, grateful his own food is germ-free.

Conner doesn't protest when M'gann holds his hand but remains to stare skeptically at the plastic toy, leaving the hamburger inside his Happy Meal box untouched. Wally knocks himself on the chest a few times and swallows down a chunk of food that jammed his esophagus.

"Damn, okay.. I'm fine. _Thanks for asking, you guys._" He swipes a fry into the tiny container of ketchup and nibbles on the tip. "Best friends five-ever, babes."

Confused, Miss M squeezes Superboy's strong hand and exchanges a look with him before asking, "What does 'five-ever' mean?"

"It's some sort of popular internet expression." Robin answers instead of Kid Flash, who is preoccupied with slurping noisily from his jumbo coke, "Don't worry 'bout it, Mis.. I mean, Megan." He pushes his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose when one of the workers walks past.

"Oh, alright then.." She responds unsurely, watching as the Boy Wonder swipes away at the crumbs around Wally's mouth with one of the napkins. His fingers cover the golden M.

Conner observes her from the corner of his eyes for a moment and allows his lips to curl into a knowing smirk, as if her thoughts are crystal clear to him. He then continues to poke curiously at the pink pony with anatomically incorrect features.

"Sit still, dork. You've got ketchup on your nose." Wally just edges further away from his best friend with a wide smile, hoarding his food protectively.

M'gann gently squeezes Superboy's hand again, _we should do this more often. I quite like these double dates. They're a peculiar but amusing earth custom. – Wait, those two are __**dating**__? Since when? – Hasn't it been kind of obvious, Superboy?- _ And when she starts to giggle, none of the hyperactive boys across of her take any notice.

.

.

{20. Daddy!Bats|Bruce}

_And you always thought to yourself,_

_Oh this boy is a keeper, this boy is a good son._

Just another man gone, man gone.

.

.

"I take it the birdie left the cave?" She asks, her feigned nonchalance thinly veiling the concern in her voice as she saunters from the open doorway of the study to the faux-leather fauteuil diagonally placed to the desk's right.

He looks up, not distraught but the usual hardness of his jaw softened, the scrunch of his brow less pronounced and he shakes his head in dismissal. The room is dark, as to be expected, but the gentle glow of the lamp bathes his features in a golden light, casting a Rorschach of dark grays and blacks on the wall behind him. There's a painting of his parents next to the bookshelves and a picture of his ward on the desk, framed in mahogany wood. His gaze briefly rests upon the keepsake before refocusing on her.

Selina smiles, casually crossing one leg over the other, "Don't look so cross, Bruce. It'll give you wrinkles around the eyes." She throws her head back to scrutinize him.

"How kind of you to worry about my appearance." His tone betrays no inner turmoil, but it doesn't border on a plain monotone either. He supports his weight on his elbows as he leans forwards, fingers laced together.

She allows her smile to widen, "Glad to see you haven't lost your specific brand of humor." Her left foot bounces up and down, "How is he? Have you talked to him lately? Or did you decide to sulk around in your man-grotto?" He notices how the light adds to the deep brown of her hair and can't resist a small appreciative smirk.

"Dick.." Bruce pauses, weighs his words, calculates, "Is doing fine. He and Wallace West, you are familiar with him, I suppose?, they've moved in together. He's good for Dick, obnoxious but it's clear that they're extremely fond of each other."

Nodding in an approving manner, Selina slumps back into the armchair and closes her eyes, "Still afraid to use the l-word, huh? Some things never change…" Her hands are in her lap, "You did a good job raising him, Bruce Wayne and don't let anyone tell you differently."

It's quiet for a moment, an agreeable, comfortable silence, both of them stuck in their own train of thought. Then, a slight screech as the legs of his chair scrape over the wooden floor and the soles of his designer shoes click-clack on the parquet. Her eyelids snap open in catlike reflexes. His hand presses against her shoulder, warm and heavy.

"I'm proud of him." Bruce merely mentions in passing, "I just wish we didn't part with such poisonous words."

Selina lets out a laugh, "Don't let your pride hold you back to say sorry once in a while." His hand doesn't move and a ghost of a smile rests upon his features.

"Always a catty retort, miss Kyle." His fingers curl around her shoulder, press into the fabric of her blouse.

Her eyebrows arch in curiosity, "What can I say? It's a form of wisdom."

.

.

{21. Wally's in love with Dick Grayson}

He's the _glamour _on your Hollywood wall.

Pretty boy, lonely boy, in his far-far away.

Don't you know you have to earn your fairytale?

.

.

Artemis crosses her arms, unimpressed by his request and by his pleading expression, his puppy-dog eyes. On his right wall, a collage of cut-outs hang haphazardly through another: torn pages from fashion magazines and front pages from newspapers and headlines in a stark bold black. The same face stares at her from multiple angles, a pair of bright blue eyes and rosy lips, gelled back hair or carefully ruffled by expert hands. Sometimes the boy wears the latest Hillfinger collection or he's donned in a uniform she knows all too well.

"Let me get this straight. You want _me _to give _Dick Grayson_ your phone number." She recapitulates, stretching a finger by every emphasized word.

Wally grins sweetly, folding his hands as if in prayer, "Yup, you got me, Blondie. Now if you'd be so kind…" He zips over to his desk, grabs a yellow post-it and holds it out to her. "Deliver it to him tomorrow?"

Suspicious, she snatches the note and scans the contents only to come across a series of digits indeed forming his phone number. "Why.. Are you so obsessed with the kid? He isn't that cute. Not to mention he made a selfie with me on the first day of school."

His pupils widen almost comically, "You.. You have a picture with Dick Grayson? Oh my God and you didn't tell me?!" His hands haul through his ginger hair in such a fast pace she could barely follow their movements.

"Okay, time to spill the beans, Baywatch." Artemis orders, immediately standing up straighter and adapting a no-nonsense stance.

He grumbles for a moment, rubbing his bare elbow and eventually opens his mouth to speak.

"Well, it was a high-society 'vent or something. Rob and the big ol' Bats were on a chase with a criminal, playing hide and seek, whateffs, you know. So me and Flash had to look over Bruce Wayne and his ward…" He trails off, stealing a glance at the collage of pictures, "We hit it off right away. He's kind and nice and kinda cute.. He also cracks great jokes and.." There's a blush gracing his cheeks. Artemis raises a brow at this.

She cuts him off, "You have a crush on him. Like a major _fangirl_-crush."

"I do not. I'd just like to be his friend. And maybe _hang with him_ and stuff." He defends himself meekly, rubbing his elbow more furiously until the skin turns a flustered red.

Artemis merely shakes her head, "Why don't you ask the Brat Wonder to deliver your love-notes."

Wally's shoulders sag, "I dunno, Rob doesn't like Dick or something because he always changes the subject when I try to bring it up.. It's like he's _hiding _something from me." He pauses, as if to demonstrate his point, "That's ridiculous, right?"

She crumbles the post-it, "Well, I'm not going to play Cupid for you. Maybe you should sweep little Grayson off his feet instead."

His grin nearly splits apart his face, "_Dude_, that's a great idea!"

.

.

{22. Brofort | Sleepover}

_Little shadow, to the night, will you follow me?_

Take a turn for stars, to my fantasy.

_Hey, shadow, stars, break of dawn._

.

.

It's a long-lasting tradition by the time they're seventeen and fifteen respectively to reserve one entire day and night for each other during the summer vacation. They would start it off nice and easy with a cartoon marathon, a bowl of Lucky Charms in front of them on the coffee table, and a whole array of remarks about scientific inaccuracies or athletic improbabilities. Wally would still laugh at the familiar punch-lines and Dick would still complain about the lack of motive when the hero apprehends the supposed villain.

Lunch would be prepared by either Alfred or Wally's mother and they'd insist on doing the dishes. Sinks would be filled to the brim with water and lavish bubbles, towels would be wrung and snapped against backsides and the many plates and cutlery would be soaking wet because Wally doesn't dry them thoroughly enough. They'd make themselves a smoothie or some plain orange juice and spend at least an hour talking about 'normal' stuff: homework and school, life expectations, which superhero would win in a massive duel, whether Burger King was superior in service to Wendy's. Dick would have this rare twinkle in his eyes, just barely _there_.

Afternoons are filled with gaming sessions and their co-ops could be heard throughout the residence. Encouragements to go _faster_, watch my back, enemy in the upper-right corner or _grenade_!- are common expressions and they bring a frugal smile to a butler's face and draw a light shake of the head from Mary West. Sometimes they decide to play less violent video games and just ruin virtual lives on the Sims3 with the sole reason that they _can_.

Dinner is an elaborate event that usually consists of fast food and a lot of laughter. Bruce knows better than to join the sugar-high kids at the table and usually just throws them a bat-glare in passing. Dick mimics the gesture at his retreating back before bursting into snickers and cackles. At the West residence, Wally covers his ears because his parents are telling his best friend _all these embarrassing stories_ and he's extremely grateful the Boy Wonder hasn't asked to see the photo-album because he'd _positively _die.

They catch a movie before they go to sleep. As they end up sharing the bed regardless of where they're staying, none of them bothers with bringing a sleeping bag. Wally likes to think he manages to ward off any nightmares when he curves himself around the smaller teen and it's a _total bro-thing to do_. He feels the unruly black hairs tickle his nose when he leans in closer and blows hot air against his friend's nape. Dick merely gives him a soft kick before snuggling closer.

Eventually, as they grow older, they skip the pretense of watching a blockbuster and coil together immediately. Limbs tangled and mouths attached and sleepovers more frequent. Until they move in together and have these summer-like days _every day_.

.

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{23. Dick reveals his ID}

_I knew I was gonna see you again!_

Wake up, mister West! Mister West!

_Top of the world, baby. T-top of the world!_

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"You're not wearing your sunglasses."- It's a simple statement but those words carry a certain weight to them and Wally takes a deep breath to completely understand the significance of this unusual encounter.

Rob smirks cheekily, "Astute assessment of the situation at hand."

"But.. Why?"-

"Isn't it obvious? I wanted you to see the _real me_. Uh, duh."

Wally lets his gaze travel over the entirety of his best friend's features; from the pliant plush lips to the curve of his nose to his cheekbones to those _blue _eyes and the black eyebrows above them. He tilts his head slightly to the right, curls his fingers around his chin in thought and unravels a mental checklist in his mind because he has _seen this face before_.

Of course, the ginger thinks to himself, he _has seen this face a million times_, it's without a doubt Robin's face, but there's something off. For instance, the messy mop of black atop of his head throws him off balance for some reason unknown to him.

Rob snickers when the speedster reaches forward and smoothens his dark hair, combs it backwards and scrutinizes his face again.

"Figured it out yet, Kid Genius?"-

Realization washes over his freckled features, "_Woah_, this.. This is huge, man. I'm.. I'm best friends with _Dick Grayson?_" He says the name in a whisper, like it's a hushed prayer.

"Well, yes. Please don't tell me you want an autograph or something. Stay whelmed, Walls."

He grins widely, "Don't be stupid, _Rob_. You're still you, only famous.."

"I was famous regardless my true identity. Boy Wonder, one half of the Dynamic Duo, y'know."

Wally waves away the argument with his hand, "But now you're celebrity-famous, as in, you walk red carpets and hang out with Angelina Jolie and Bono."

Dick rolls his eyes, "That was just one charity-event and they only shook my hand."

His best friend makes a few gestures as if he couldn't believe that Dick _just said that_.

"So.. You ready to get your ass handed to you in a round of C-O-D, KF?" He smacks his lips shut, hoping that he hadn't spoiled his friendship or changed his friend's views about him.

He should've known Wally doesn't disappoint.

"You're on, Boy Wonder. Better hold on to your designer shades when I _whoop your butt_. Also, you should buy me dinner more. Cheapskate."

Robin shakes his head laughing and puts his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Some things never change.

.

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{24. Evil! Dick &|or Wally}

_Everything suddenly seems displaced, subtle gradations erase borders,_

_But it's more forceful than that._

(Glamorama, Bret Easton Ellis)

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"Rise and shine, mister Dent." ~

It's a taunt, followed almost immediately by an eerie cackle, which chills his bones as it bounces off the walls. Harvey finds himself tied to a chair: abrasive ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles, vision blurred as the numbing fatigue wears off and temporarily stunned by the blinding bright lights hanging above him. Forcing himself to focus on his breaths so he doesn't end up hyperventilating, the district attorney scans his surroundings for something familiar.

Harvey sees his driver, bloody and beaten, slumped against a wall with a stripe of silver duct tape over his mouth and puffed-out cheeks. There's a crude bat drawn on the material, contrasting blatantly with the light-tinted background.

His head is pulled back violently and from his peripheral, he can see a pair of eyes behind red goggles staring at him. "Peek-a-boo, _Harvey Dent_." He's pushed forwards again, the force of the gesture strains his neck.

"Wha.. What do you want?! Ransom? Gordon won't pay up that easily for me."- His statement evokes a cackle from somewhere in the distance, somewhere in the shadows.

His attacker, who seems to be wearing a black tight-fitting suit with a crimson bolt dead-center on his chest, looks at a fixed point in the darkness and Harvey can see the man's mouth twitch until a devastating grin splits apart the underside of his face.

"_Babe_, he thinks we want money." Fingers curl into his short dirty blonde strands and tighten forcibly. "We don't want money, _mister Dent_."

While his head is turned towards the man donning goggles, something whirls past him from the looming darkness of the other side of the room, grazes his temple lightly and lodges itself in the wooden back of the chair. Harvey swallows visibly, the metal of the object cool against his bare skin when his attacker lets go of him.

"We just…" The man in the dark uniform starts slowly, a dark teasing edge to his tone, "Want to make an example _outta you_."

Something shifts in the shadows and another figures emerges, a vigilante Harvey Dent recognizes easily. "Nightwing…" He breathes out, blood sliding down his face.

"You have the Batman's regards, mister Dent." His smile is almost genuine as he continues, "He's quite interested in your white knight-image. But then you just had to ruin it by investigating bloody money trails. _Tsk, tsk, tsk._"

The other one puts his palm flat over his solar plexus, tilting his head curiously to the right as he does. Nightwing comes closer, staring at Harvey from above the other's shoulder.

"If you'd do the honors, _babe_."

His whole body starts to shake along when the goggle-donning man's hand begins to vibrate wildly and his breathing gets affected; he's practically gasping for air as pain shoots from his solar plexus to every nerve-ending on his being. Ropes prevent him from trashing wildly and when his head bumps against the cool metal stuck next to him, he howls out in agony. It's in this moment, Harvey notices the scattered torn-out pages around the chair. Pictures of him with his head crossed out in a vibrant vermillion.

Harvey Dent would not make out this night _alive_.

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{25. Free idea}

_I want you  
It's the stupid details that my heart is breaking for  
It's the way your shoulders shake and what they're shaking for__._

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"I'm so terribly scared, Dick." His confession is soft-spoken and uncharacteristically hesitant, succeeded by a heavy sigh, which causes his chest to heave and sag.

He smiles gently, draws his partner into a comforting embrace and hushes him with the patience of a doting parent. "I know, _Walls_, I know."

On their dinner table lies the outstretched crimson uniform of the Flash; patched up and improved with additional features, the cowl obscuring the proud yellow lightning bolt. There's a special League communicator next to the ensemble and a laminated access card. Wally chokes up again, feels the guilt hot and heavy in his lungs and buries his face in the crook of Dick's neck.

Tears soak the collar of his dark sweatshirt. Dick slowly strokes the ginger's lower back, mutters lowly, "It's not your fault, you weren't there." He insists with a whisper, "It's not your fault."

With a long-stretched sniffle, the speedster staggers back and stares straight at the uniform, eyelids swollen and scarlet, cheeks puffed-out and flustered. "I.. I should've been- should've been there. _Y'know_, done something. Saved my uncle." He swipes along his nose with the sleeve of his button-up.

"Tell.. Tell Bats I'm not doing this." Wally murmurs, his eyes glossy with tears, "I.. I just can't, _man_."

Dick places his hands on both sides of his boyfriend's face and pulls him closer until their foreheads are plastered together. "Maybe you can't do it now, _Wally_, but you can be the Flash. You can carry on your uncle's legacy." He breathes out slowly, "I _**believe **_in you."

Another sob racks the stability of the speedster's spine and shakes his shoulders, but Wally presses closer, feels Dick's warm skin against his sweaty forehead and mulls his words over in the confines of his mind. "I'd be such a _mess_ without you, Dick, even more than I am now."

"You'd manage." He responds, tightening his hold just a tiny bit, "You always have this uncanny ability to land on your two runner's feet."

Wally lets out a laugh, hoarse and raspy. "I'm nowhere near your league." His sentences lost their stammer, one pear-shaped teardrop rolls over the bulb of his cheek but otherwise the crying has stopped.

"C'mon, let's go to bed. Get a good night's sleep. You look exhausted." Dick comments gently and disentangles himself from their embrace, grabs his boyfriend by the wrist and pulls him away from the uniform.

He retorts, runny nose and red-faced, "I feel exhausted, but I bet I still look lovely…" Wally stops abruptly and forces the black-haired man back against his chest, "Thanks.. For everything, I mean.. I just needed someone to _believe _in me for a moment."

Unable to help the wide smile, Dick says, "I'll **always** believe in you, _Walls_."

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End file.
